


Ice and Steel

by TheUmbraphage



Series: Entropy and Conquest [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BAMF Lavellan (Dragon Age), Background Relationships, Battlemages, Bisexual Inquisitor, Canon-Typical Violence, Clan Lavellan still practices battle magic, Concept Art Solas, Discontinuous Progression, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Inquisitor Has Issues, Inquisitor is emotionally constipated, Lavellan Backstory, M/M, NOT a love triangle, OCs out of necessity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad Ending, actually pretty much everyone in clan Lavellan is BAMF, because I'm too lazy to write every scene, but bald, lots of anecdotes, massive spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-06 20:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12825045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUmbraphage/pseuds/TheUmbraphage
Summary: Eolin, the uncomfortably facetious mage, struggles with his undeniable affinity for the damned attractive egg.





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to stone me for starting another fic. I deserve it.
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this woefully un-beta'd work. There's gonna be a lot of jumping around since I don't want to repeat everything that happened ingame (there's Wikia for that). This fic mostly serves as background for an upcoming crack-ish fic that I'm writing to distract myself from how Solas thoroughly fucked my heart over.
> 
> I apologize that this first chapter follows very closely to the game, but future chapters will start to diverge more.

Despite the biting cold of the wind and the smooth wood of the stave anchoring him to reality, he wasn’t entirely certain that this wasn’t the Fade and he wasn’t still asleep back at clan Lavellan to catch up on some rest before he travelled to the Conclave in place of his Keeper. It was more likely denial, he reasoned, but it didn’t change how improbable it was that he was the only survivor of the explosion and he was the one who conveniently ended up with an anomaly scarred into his left palm.

Apparently, this anomaly, which the Seeker has taken to calling “the Anchor,” was killing him too. It was not a great week.

As he and the Seeker treaded snow and ice on their way through the mountainous ravine, he almost stumbled, letting out a hiss at the sharp pain that tore through his Anchored arm, leaning on his stave as he waited for the pain to subside.

The Seeker paused in her steps, looking to the short elf with eyebrows furrowed. “It’s growing.”

“Yes.”

“We must hurry then.”

The elf nodded in agreement, waiting for the pain for subside before they continued on their trek. For the past few hours, it was the same routine: running, climbing, and battling demons. Fatigue began to settle in his muscles, but the elf fiercely pushed it aside in favor of channelling pure irritation into his spells, grey almond-shaped eyes steelier than his usual overcast grey. He knew that wasn’t a practice the Keeper would condone, considering their clan’s peaceful nature.

He huffed to himself, _To hell with peace._

The Lavellan slammed his stave into the icy ground, and with a crack, towering icicles sharpened to a deadly point rose from the ground and tore apart the last three demons in the horde, catching the Seeker by surprise as the icicles narrowly missed her by six inches. He met the Seeker’s startled, yet outraged brown eyes evenly with an expression of somewhat amused ice. “Shall we continue?”

Without waiting for her answer, he walked ahead. The Seeker shook her head before following the mage. Fifteen minutes of pushing through the harsh winds later, the wind had calmed to gentle breeze that didn’t constantly blow his slightly overgrown curly black hair into his eyes. He sighed, a puff of breath expanding from his lips into the icy air. He was sure his freckled face and ears were red from the sting of the cold.

The mage slowed his step, briefly admiring the snowfall, before a flash of green light similar to that of the Anchor flashed in the distance and a demon’s roar was heard. Sharing a glance with the tall Seeker, the duo rushed toward the scene.

Upon their arrival, there were two others fighting against the demons that came from the rift- A dwarven archer and an elven mage, he observed. The Seeker was the first to get to the battle, unsheathing her sword and immediately throwing herself amongst the demons with her shield as protection. The Lavellan prepared himself to start casting spells, however slipped on ice.

Cursing himself and his clumsiness, the Lavellan let himself drop to the ground and slid across the ice and snow beneath a demon. Flames spurt from his stave onto the demon during the slide, catching the demon off guard as it was set on fire. The second he slid out from beneath the demon, he stood and entered the throes of battle beside the elven mage, throwing spells after another at their enemy.

The last of the demons soon were dying, and with a wave of his stave, shards of ice formed in the air and rained down upon them, killing the last of them. As the Lavellan prepared to defend against the next wave of demons from the rift, a gloved hand grasped his freezing, Anchored arm and pulled it toward the rift. A deep voice shouted, “Quickly, before more come through!”

Strange green energy came from his palm and connected his hand to the rift for several second before the rift snapped close, disappearing. He pulled his hand away, startled, and stared at the elven mage in surprise. “What did you do?”

“I did nothing. The credit was yours.”

The Lavellan only looked more puzzled, unconsciously tilting his head. “You’re saying I was the one who closed the rift.”

“The same power that created the Breach has placed a mark upon your hand. I theorized that your mark had the power to close rifts.”

The icy mage raised an eyebrow at the other elf, impressed. “Clearly your theory was correct.”

“It would also mean that it could close the Breach itself.” The Seeker, Cassandra, commented.

“I have some doubts that it would be a simple close and shut case like that.” The Lavellan interjected. “That was a single, small rift, while the Breach is equivalent to hundreds of these rifts. Would this mark even be powerful enough?”

“It is a possibility we shouldn’t rule out. You are the only key we have to salvation.” The elven mage pointed out.

“That doesn’t sound very promising.” The Lavellan frowned.

“You got that right, elf. We’re still ass-deep in demons though, and we need all the help we got.” There was a chuckle from behind them, and the Lavellan realized it was the dwarf. The dwarf introduced himself, “Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally an unwelcome tag-along.”

Cassandra sneered at Varric.

The Lavellan ignored the tension and introduced himself as well, “Eolin Lavellan. I’m afraid I’m just a simple traveller who got caught up in all of this.” Glancing between the elven mage and Varric, he questioned, “Are you with the Chantry, or…?”

The mage chuckled, “Was that a serious question?”

Varric shook his head. “No, technically I’m just a prisoner like yourself.”

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly, that is no longer necessary.” Cassandra stated, voice clipped.

“Yet here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events.” Varric smirked.

As the Seeker and Varric bantered, Eolin turned to the mage in curiosity. “I’m afraid I haven’t gotten your name yet.”

“Solas.” The elf smiled courteously. “I am quite pleased you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Varric interjected.

Surprised, the Lavellan nodded to Solas. “Then, I owe you my gratitude. You seem to know a lot about this mark.”

Cassandra spoke to Lavellan, “Like you, Solas is an apostate.”

“Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra. My travels have allowed me to learn much about the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage.”

Eolin straightened, intrigued by Solas’s statement.

“I came to offer whatever help I can give to seal the Breach. If it is not closed, we are doomed, regardless of origin.”

“It seems like you are likely to be of more help than I am.” Eolin commented, faint smile on his lips as looked on in admiration and respect at the apostate.

“That is something we’ll have to observe for ourselves.” Lips curled up in bemusement, sky blue eyes curious.


	2. Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eolin is not amused by the antics of the shem.

When Eolin was about 10 years old, he had left clan Lavellan for the first time. As a child, he was practically bouncing with excitement to finally see the outside world with his own eyes rather than trying to imagine it all from the tales the elders would tell around the fire after dinner.

Every few month or so, his father and mother would leave camp with a small group of others to trade with the shems. It has been this way for as long as Eolin could remember, yet the child had yet to go with them despite pleading with them on multiple occasions. They would simply shoot down his hopes every time and reason that it was simply too dangerous for him to go; each trip usually lasted a little more than a week since the city they often traded in was a long distance away and Eolin, as young as he was, would only burden them.

For the first time when the tenacious child brought it up again, his mother’s green eyes were hesitant and thoughtful before she swung her head to her husband, a head full of tight red curls bouncing with the action. She questioned her husband, “What do you think, Isenar? I think it’s about time, isn’t it?”

Isenar sighed, grey eyes tired. “Doshiel, I don’t know…”

“Eolin has turned ten and we’re meeting with the traders a few miles from Starkhaven. It’s closer than the port near Kirkwall.” Doshiel pushed, her voice firm. Isenar appeared thoughtful as he considered her words.

“Fine. We’ll bring him with us.”

Three days later, Eolin’s giddiness had fallen rock bottom from the sky when one of the traders had begun a rather vocal rant about the superiority of the Chantry’s religion, draining the life and soul of everyone in their party.

\--

“ _Herald of Andraste?_ ” The mage sputtered, aghast at the title. “Why? I’m an _elf!_ ”

Leliana and Cassandra seemed so nonchalant about it all- Or perhaps Eolin was that terrible at discerning facial expressions- and that only unnerved him even more. Leliana pointed out, “In these times, the public needs stability. The Herald of Andraste provides such.”

“While we hold reservations about the title, it is something we cannot change. In the past three days, everyone has been calling you the Herald. By now, the belief will have settled.” The Seeker added.

Eolin let out a long breath of tired resignation, still frowning. “So, it is too late to try dispelling these rumors.”

“You could, however it may take months or years.” Leliana replied.

“Right.” Eolin crossed his arms and leaned against the table. “Tell me more of this Inquisition.”

Cassandra responded, “The Inquisition was reinstated by Divine Justinia before the Conclave explosion…”

“‘Reinstated?’”

“Yes. It was first created after the First Blight to bring order in dark times. However, in the years following, the Inquisition dissolved when the need for it faded, and in its place grew the Templar Order and the Seekers of Truth.”

“That certainly sounds like a heavy responsibility. And quite a bit of history to uphold.” Eolin commented, skeptical. “How exactly am I to help?”

“As the Herald, you will be a figurehead. The mark on your hand, or Anchor it seems, will be beneficial to helping us seal the Breach completely-”

Eolin reminded, “If it were possible.”

“...Yes. You did manage to stop the Breach from growing any further, so sealing it isn’t quite as an impossible task as before.” Cassandra nodded.

“Even if we know it is not impossible, there’s no telling when we would be successful. Even though we’ve come long ways to understanding the Anchor better, we still don’t know the entirety of its effects.” Eolin pointed out, eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“That is indeed a concern, but we do not expect this to be a short and easy task.” Leliana agreed. “Since Solas is currently our expert on the mark, we expect that more information can be gleaned if you work with him.”

Eolin let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, I suppose there’s no way out for me, is there? I’m in too deep.”

“If it is your wish to leave and return to your clan, we won’t hold you.” Leliana began.

He shook his head. His life may have spiralled out of control, but he was responsible for the new problems that have arisen. “No, it’s fine. I will help however I can, however I only ask to maintain contact with my clan through letters.”

“We are amenable to that.”

“Thank you.”

When Eolin escaped back into the sunlight, he was met with a cold blast of air. Shuddering, he wrapped his overcoat tighter around himself to block out the wind. The warmth of the sunlight did nothing to lessen the chill. The mage looked around at his surrounding before heading in the opposite direction of the building he woke up in. Best he at least gets to know about this Haven place before he attended the meeting in the war room later that day.

As Eolin leisurely strolled through the village, his step slowed upon finding a familiar, friendly face near a campfire. “Varric!”

The dwarf turned upon hearing Eolin and greeted, “Looks like our sleeping beauty is awake. How are you feeling?”

“I am well, thank you.” Eolin smiled. He added in levity, “At least, as well as can be when I’m neck deep in shite.”

Varric chuckled. “How’s that going for you?”

“It smells purely _delightful._ ” Eolin drawled. “I’m afraid I am not well versed enough in politics to be a proper Herald. And that’s putting it lightly.”

“You and I the same. Though I’d say you’ve got it worse off, _Herald of Andraste._ ”

“Oh, not you, too…” Eolin cringed.

“Hey, I was just kidding.”

“Varric, I’m in urgent need of your help!” Their conversation was interrupted by a human girl rushing over in panic with a broken crossbow. The dwarf grimaced at the state of the crossbow; he would never let Bianca get worn down to that point.

“Agatha, you’re really burning through crossbows like paper.”

The girl squeaked, her pale face growing redder than it already was from the bite of the cold, “Sorry!”

Varric’s voice was more gentle, “Just be more careful next time.”

Eolin spoke, figuring he should leave Varric to help the girl,“Well, I’ll be going, then. We’ll talk later.”

“Sure, you know where I am.”

As Eolin continued on his ways, he glanced up at the sky, determining the sun’s position. He likely had an hour or so before he was due at the war room. Eolin’s gaze was cursory as he observed the surrounding buildings, taking a mental note of the locations of the tavern and smith shop. That was bound to be useful later.

Whenever he passed by soldiers and villagers, he would smile and greet them, spending a couple minutes to learn more about the Inquisition and their backgrounds. He made sure burn some of their names into memory for the next time he sees them around again; he supposed that he ought to at least start playing this Herald role.

Eolin let out a breath as he slowed his step and stopped to lean against a short stone wall beside a fire, watching his breath come out in a puff of steam. He stared into the distance toward the mountains and the sickly green clouds that circled above the Breach, his expression settled into a comfortably stoic, yet thoughtful one. Now that the Breach wasn’t launching debris everywhere, there was a quiet stillness that was peaceful.

The sky was eerily beautiful with smoky clouds that formed a gentle vortex with a bright green light glowing from within its heart. It was only to be rivalled by the even brighter sun, but Eolin mused that the Breach would likely block out the sun’s greatness if it ever passed over the Breach. He looked down to his hand, observing the glimmering green that sparked beneath his skin from the mark. It looked like a slow healing scar almost, but he had absolutely no recollection of the exact moment he received the mark. If Eolin had to venture a guess, the mark looked like it was from something he might have held in his hand- To which, he had to wonder if the object was either the thing that had tore a rip through reality, or if it was perhaps the hand of the faceless woman he had taken before he lost consciousness.

As Eolin stared in fascination at his mark, he was caught unsuspecting by a voice behind him. “The chosen of Andraste. A blessed hero to save us all.”

Eolin snorted, turning to face the bald elf in tired amusement. “Am I riding in on a shining steed? Or perhaps a silver-lined cloud may be more befitting, considering I’m now an agent of Andraste.”

“I was about to suggest a griffon, but sadly they are all extinct.” Solas mused, moving to stand beside Eolin. “Joking aside, posturing is necessary.”

“Because I’m an elf and now some face to represent an extension of the Chantry? Of course.” Eolin deflated, unconsciously running his fingers through his hair and messing up the loose curls in his stress. “It’s awfully ironic, being a hero among these people.”

“After journeying deep into the Fade seeing the memories of the rise and fall of heroes, I wonder what kind of hero you would be.”

“Not a good one, if I were to guess.” Eolin laughed. He sobered slightly, “I would still do my best to help where I can, however.”

“Even though you still have your clan? You are a mage, after all.”

“Clan Lavellan will do fine with just our Keeper. She’s quite a fright in battle.” Eolin smirked as he remembered his mentor, a strong, steadfast woman in her 50s. Not to mention a great deal of his clan mates were skilled swordsmen and marksmen, which would no doubt form a formidable defense against any bandits. He looked back to the Breach, serious again. “Even if my mark doesn’t do much to help in the end, I can still offer my skills to the Inquisition.”

Solas appeared thoughtful at his words before speaking, “I will stay then, at least until the Breach is closed.”

Eolin raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Was that in question?”

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me.”

“Yet you are the only one who had a remote idea of what the mark was capable of. Without you, I would have likely been executed and the Breach would have kept growing.” Eolin pointed out.

“Perhaps,” Solas replied, “However when we take Cassandra into consideration, you must understand my caution.”

Eolin grimaced slightly, recalling Cassandra’s treatment of him as a prisoner after he woke in those dungeons. “Ah yes, the Seeker… She is rather harsh. Regardless, I’m sure there will be others to defend you. I wouldn’t let them use that against you, at least.”

“How would you go about doing that?”

“Let’s just say I’m very good with words.” Eolin said lightly. “If not that, I’m sure we can escape with a few fires set here and there for a distraction.”

Solas seemed surprised, though a bit cautious at his blunt answer. “Thank you, however I hope it won’t end in that.”

“Of course not.” Eolin shrugged. “I’m only speaking in hypotheticals here.”

Solas nodded. “For now, let’s just hope other mages nor Templars will have the ability to seal the Breach.”

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm in no way jabbing at all religious people, just certain ones. I can't speak the same for Eolin.
> 
> I'm working on a pencil portrait of Eolin right now that'll probably be done in a few days (yikes, I forgot how much graphite I used up to draw portraits like a year ago; I should start making use of my drawing tablet). If you want to chat, hit me up in the comments sections or message me @umbraphage on Tumblr. I will also be posting art, random DA, and other fandom stuff on [my side blog](jasiel-kun.tumblr.com), so feel free to check that out.


	3. Indomitable Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine has caught the eye of Eolin, but Solas is also insufferably attractive with that jawline and smooth words.

A cool summer evening breeze brushed through the camp, but Eolin was not chilled at all as he sat in front of a roaring fire, barely paying attention to the chatter around him. Instead of actively listening to the other teenage boys discussing the day’s hunt and frightening the children with tales of monsters and shemlen, Eolin’s eyes were drawn to platinum blonde hair glimmering in the firelight several feet away. 

Soft pink lips curled in delicate laughter as one of her friends whispered a joke in her ear. She was a few months younger than he was, and she was turning 16 that week. He only knew her as an acquaintance since their childhood; before the age of 10, Eolin assumed she was shy and slightly awkward and therefore she didn’t truly stand out from the other children their age.

Yet, somehow, the subtle changes in her face have drawn his attention more often in the past couple years. The softness of her features from childhood had sharpened into marble-like beauty. Her lidded blue eyes were no longer so guarded and nervous and instead shone with quiet confidence and untold thoughts. Eolin wondered if he could pursue a deeper friendship with her.

Her eyes lifted up to meet his, slightly surprised to see his eyes upon her. Eolin smiled warmly at her and raised a hand to wave at her.

Before he could see if she waved back, he felt his shoulder being prodded harshly with a finger. Smile sliding off his face, Eolin turned to face the taller boy seated beside him. It was Mahanon.

“Eolin, are you even listening?”

Eolin sighed, shaking his head. “Sorry, I got a bit lost in thoughts.”

Mahanon stared at the mage in disbelief, eyes suspiciously sliding to the direction that Eolin was staring in. “Uh-huh… I was asking you about hahren Deshanna had to say about my research.”

“Your research?” Eolin blinked at Mahanon in confusion.

A frustrated sigh came from the taller elf. “The research I started two years ago? The research you’ve been helping me with for the past two years?”

“Oh right, you mean the different levels of the Fade. I, uh, sort of forgot to mention it to her…”

Mahanon lightly shoved Eolin, and Eolin smacked his arm in turn. He chuckled, “You’ve been forgetting lots of stuff for awhile. What kind of friend are you?”

“The friend who makes sure you don’t get lost in the Fade.” Eolin smirked. “What would you do without me?”

“Nerds of feather flock together.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.” Eolin rolled his eyes.

“But seriously, what’s been going on?”

Eolin’s playful smile faded slightly, his eyes averting from Mahanon’s brown gaze. “I’ve just been distracted, that’s all.”

“Distracted with what? Ellana?” Mahanon drawled.

Eolin’s cheeks tinged a pale pink and he refused to meet Mahanon’s gaze. Mahanon’s eyes widened in shock.

“What, really? _Ellana_? I wasn’t really being serious!” He sputtered. “You know that her brother is Arunam, right? _That_ Arunam? The one who’s been torturing us like ants for-”

Eolin snapped, “Yes, I know!”

“Why her, then?”

“Ellana isn’t like Arunam.”

Mahanon rolled his eyes at Eolin. “Obviously. I’m more concerned about Arunam’s reaction.”

A large shadow fell upon the two when a tall figure stood between them and the fire. A deep voice drawled, “What’s this about me and Ellana?”

Eolin and Mahanon froze in terror before slowly turning their heads up to look at the 17 year old warrior-in-training. Mahanon replied, his voice higher than usual, “Nothing! Nothing at all, Arunam.”

Mahanon glanced at Eolin, half expecting the shorter elf to say something sarcastic and cause another fight to break out. Instead Eolin remained silent and met Arunam’s harsh glare evenly.

Arunam shifted slightly, as though to start taunting Eolin, but stopped. “Hmm.” With that, he turned and walked off.

Mahanon stared at Arunam’s retreating form. “Now that’s a bit weird, don’t you think?”

“I guess.” Eolin shrugged.

\--

Between doing small missions around Haven before Eolin was to attend to issues in the Hinterlands, the mage found himself wandering back to Josephine’s office to recover from the inane hours that pass by.

The ambassador’s presence and insights was like fresh air to Eolin; Josephine was an intelligent woman with sharp eyes that reflected a countenance of a hawk’s, yet her eyes were equally bright and expressive. Eolin could very well see that she was a dangerous woman- Perhaps not with the blade since he had yet to see her in battle, but most certainly she was deadly with politics after playing the Game for years.

“As always, it’s a pleasure to speak to you, Josephine.” Eolin nodded to the ambassador with warm eyes, his lips curling into a charming smile.

Josephine raised an amused eyebrow at Eolin from her seat. “You’re starting to pick up the ropes of the Game, I see.”

“How do you know?”

“That was uncharacteristically charismatic of you to say that with such posturing.” Josephine smiled. “Not to mention that I’ve been hearing that you’re becoming a fast favorite among the Inquisition’s soldiers.”

Eolin countered, “Ah, but there’s no way I can compete with your own charisma.”

“You ought to be a bit more careful there, Eolin; being too complimentary is seen as clumsy among Orlesians.” Josephine let out a light chuckle. Eolin laughed with her, although he felt his spirits falling slightly at how the ambassador overlooked his subtle words. Was he being too subtle in his attraction toward the Antivan?

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Eolin replied. “I’ll be off then; let’s speak again later.”

“Farewell.”

Eolin took his leave, and upon stepping out into the cold day air, looked up to the sky to discern the sun’s position. It was a little past noon; he should probably meet with Solas to check on the mark again. It’s been a week and a half already since his last checkup. While he hasn’t noticed any changes in the mark’s condition, it was better safe than sorry to examine it again. The Lavellan headed on his way to meet the bald mage.

Upon seeing Solas’ back, Eolin slowly approached. “Hahren.”

“Hello, lethallin.” Solas turned to Eolin, face cordial.

“I was wondering if we could put my arm through some more testing.”

Solas’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Has it worsened?”

Eolin shook his head, though he could feel his ears warming slightly now that he wondered if he was becoming too paranoid. “Well, no. I just figured that it would be beneficial to have routine checkups.”

“That is true, however given its stable condition, it only needs to be examined at most twice a month.”

“Hm.”

Seeing the unsettled expression on Eolin’s face, Solas added, “Of course, I’m open to looking at the mark again if you’d like.”

“Please.”

Solas gestured for Eolin to enter the small wooden hut behind him. It was a bit shabby for the mage to live and sleep in compared to where Eolin has slept the past month, but it was at least warmer than the bitter chill outside.

Once they were inside, Eolin shrugged off his black fur-collared cloak and silently sat beside the wooden table, rolling up his white linen sleeve. Solas sat beside him and firmly took Eolin’s hand, beginning by pressing his fingers to the inside of his wrist to count his pulse.

In the long moment as Solas’s eyes focused on Eolin’s pale arm and the unhealthy green veins beneath his skin, Eolin couldn’t help gaze at Solas’s face. Dusky eyes traced the elder elf’s sharp features, fascinated with how the lines of Solas’s nose, cheekbones, and jawline formed such an interesting visage. Paired with blue eyes that spoke more than Solas’s chosen words in speech, Eolin admitted that Solas had a certain enthralling atmosphere as though he was a difficult puzzle to be solved- And Eolin wasn’t one to pass up a good puzzle when he sees one.

His eyes trailed to Solas’s lacking hair, watching his smooth head glimmer in the daylight that poured in from the window. Eolin rarely ever saw a shaved head among his clan, at Arlathven whenever he went with his Keeper, or even among the shemlen he encountered whenever he joined a trading party to visit Kirkwall or Starkhaven, so he couldn’t help but stare. He couldn’t tell which he was more curious about: if Solas’s head was as smooth as it looked or how Solas would look with hair.

Seeing Solas shift to look up at Eolin, the younger elf quickly looked away, flustered and pretending that he wasn’t staring awkwardly at Solas just a moment before. Solas looked curiously at Eolin for a moment before he chose not to question the flush on Eolin’s cheeks. Instead, he commented, “Your musculature is unusual for a mage.”

“Huh?” Eolin’s gaze snapped back to Solas, baffled by his statement.

“Your arms are stronger than I would expect.” Solas clarified.

“Oh, well, uhm…” Eolin stuttered over his words for a short moment, startled by Solas’s observation. He replied carefully, “My Keeper taught me that mages ought to have something to fall back on in case magic isn’t enough of a defense, so I learned to use weapons other than the stave.”

Solas seemed intrigued by Eolin’s statement. “That’s a pragmatic and useful sentiment. It would be a pleasure to see you put your other skills to use in battle. You are already an incredible mage; it would be interesting to see what else you have mastered.”

Eolin laughed, hoping his nervousness wasn’t leaking into his voice. “Certainly not. I’ll leave the bashing to Cassandra, thank you very much.”

“Of course.” Solas’s lips formed a slight smile, though the older mage still remained inquisitive about Eolin. “There is still no doubt that it is enjoyable to see your indomitable focus on the battlefield.

“Indomitable focus?” Eolin repeated, eyebrow raised while he tilted his head inquiringly.

“Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated.” Was Solas smirking? Yes, he was. “I imagine that the sight would be… Fascinating.”

It took a whole moment for Solas’s words to register with Eolin, and immediately the younger mage coughed into his hand and averted his eyes, cheeks flushing scarlet and his freckles growing more pronounced. He let out a soft, rolling chuckle to disperse his embarrassment. He replied without thinking, “Well, you’d have to buy me dinner and a few drinks first to see that.”

“Hm.” Solas’s amusement grew at Eolin’s response and he returned his attention to Eolin’s arm. Solas’s hand hovered over Eolin’s own as he tested the mark’s response to Fade magic. The mark sparked slightly in response as per usual. “The mark’s condition is still stable.”

Eolin let out a breath and pulled his arm back. “That’s good to hear. Thank you, hahren. Aside from asking you to look at the mark, I have a few questions, if you don’t mind my intrusion.”

“Of course not.” Solas nodded for Eolin to continue.

“You said earlier that you have spent many years exploring and studying the Fade. Do you have any documentation of your experiences?”

“No, not in the strictest sense. I have not written any of my experiences down, if that’s what you’re inquiring. However, I could share my experiences with you through spoken word.” Solas replied. Eolin brightened at his words.

“You wouldn’t mind if I wrote them down, would you?”

“I don’t mind.” Blue eyes glittered with intrigue as Solas looked at Eolin in question. “For some reason, I never thought of you as a fellow Dreamer.”

“I’m not. At least, not really. I have walked the Fade in my dreams on more than one occasion, but I’m definitely not a dedicated study. I’m asking on behalf of my friend Mahanon back at home, since he’s incredibly interested in studying the Fade in depth.”

Solas seemed surprised at Eolin’s words. “Your clan has a Second?”

Eolin was startled by the question but shook his head with a laugh. “Oh, no. He would be a _terrible_ mage if he had the ability. He just happened to stumble across lucid dreaming and become obsessed with it, that’s all.”

“Your clan is rather… Interesting, based off of everything you’ve told me. It certainly stands out from other Dalish clans.” Solas commented.

Eolin’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. He ran his fingers through his hair in thought. “If you put it that way, I suppose my clan does have strange traditions and strange people. What are your thoughts on elves, hahren?”

Solas’s eyes immediately grew guarded. “I would think that you would be more interested in telling me about your beliefs, as Dalish yourself.”

Eolin visibly frowned at Solas. “Why would I if I have only spent my life living in one clan and seeing one other on a semi-frequent basis?”

“Most Dalish I’ve encountered have been rather gratuitous in their entitlement and ‘superior’ knowledge.”

“Well, you are being rather gratuitous in your presumptions. Not all Dalish are as you describe, and I am more than willing to leave your presence if my Dalishness really grates on your nerves.” Eolin snapped, eyes narrowed. “I’m not here to judge you.”

Solas stared at the younger mage as though Eolin’s words caught him off guard. Solas looked away, slightly embarrassed at his outburst. “I… Apologize. That was uncalled for.”

“Right you are.” Eolin nodded, accepting the apology though he was still slightly sour at being compared to the narrow-minded Dalish. “For what it’s worth, I apologize for what other Dalish have done to you. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“Thank you.” Solas relaxed. “What would you like to hear?”

Eolin smiled. “Well, for starters, you must have had some experience with past elves in the Fade. Have you by any chance seen Arlathan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad that I've been listening to the Witcher 3 OST while writing this?
> 
> Ooh, I can actually show you guys Eolin's portrait now that I finished this chapter: [Eolin Lavellan](https://jasiel-kun.tumblr.com/post/168338550833/eolin-lavellan-with-and-without-vallaslin-i)
> 
> Also, since I got a drawing tablet at a decent discount, I can transfer to doing more digital art for this fic (once I practice getting a hang of it at least).


	4. The Crow Sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eolin recruits allies and makes some enemies because he can be a little bit of a jerk sometimes.

A nine year old boy sprinted through the camp, usually loose black curls ruffled from the wind whipping past him. Behind him, four boys taller and more muscular than him chased after him while shouting and laughing.

The adults only watched in amusement, chuckling at the boys. To them, they were simply playing Wolf and the Halla again. To young Eolin however, he was being relentlessly pursued since he was conveniently the weakest target to be the halla in their game. He knew there was no Ghilan’nain’s shepard to defend the halla, so the boy only powered ahead using his lithe form to dodge their advances by weaving through the tents.

The child was fast indeed, but in his panic did not realize that he strayed right into a patch of uneven, rocky ground. His toe caught a stone embedded in the ground, and with a yelp he felt himself falling forward. Eolin broke his fall with his forearms, but hissed at the sharp stones digging into his pale skin. Undoubtedly his arms would be covered in scrapes and bleeding scratches, but it was at least better than getting a bruised face and potentially an injured eye.

“Got you!”

“Stop, no!” Eolin feebly kicked at the stronger boys as three pairs of hands grasped his legs and dragged him backwards. His breath was seized harshly when the back of his shirt was yanked back as the boys roughly hoisted him up, the fabric of the neckline pulled against his windpipe and closing in on his airways briefly.

Eolin could only slump against the other boys when he was finally standing, sucking in some fresh air once the pressure on his neck was released. He slowly raised his eyes to the leader of the pack—Arunam—his lips curling slightly in a sneer at the blond. He spat on the ground in agitation.

“We got you. You know how the rules go.”

Eolin muttered, “I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Too bad, too sad! You’re the loser. As the winner, I challenge you to another round of archery! Loser gets to be halla.”

Eolin cringed. He _always_ gets to be halla because of his poor aim.

\--

Cassandra’s steps were light on the frozen ground as she swung her new sword with ease, testing its weight against her palm and the momentum of the blade slicing through the air.

In her intense focus, snow crunched behind her and she instinctively spun on her heel, her blade whistling through the air.

The dark haired elf narrowly dodged the blade by jumping backwards, however remained unfazed at the avoided injury. Eolin raised an eyebrow at the Seeker, “You seem rather jumpy today, Cassandra.”

“I apologize, Herald.” Cassandra sheathed her sword, embarrassed.

“Oh, it’s my fault. I should have announced my presence earlier.” Eolin shook his head. “Are you prepared to leave for Val Royeaux soon?”

“Of course. We should be leaving shortly.”

Eolin nodded, eyes drawn to her sheathed sword. “Is that a new sword?”

“Ah, yes. My old one was getting a bit worn.” The Seeker nodded.

The elf coughed, hesitating slightly before he asked, “May I take a look at it?”

Cassandra stared at Eolin, baffled slightly. She unstrapped the scabbard from herself and extended it for Eolin to take. “Of course, Herald. I didn’t think you would be interested in anything beyond your stave.”

“Most mages wouldn’t.” Eolin replied, testing the weight of the sword and unsheathing it from the scabbard to examine it. As he stared wistfully at the blade gleaming in the sunlight, he noted that the sword was heavier than what he was used to wielding back at camp; he supposed it was typical since Cassandra was human. His expression hardened slightly, the wistfulness gone from his eyes. He sheathed the sword and returned it to Cassandra. “I believe the Chantry banned mages from using weapons other than a stave everywhere other than Tevinter.”

“You’re right. That law was passed 15 years ago, however I have not seen it enforced.”

“Hm.” Eolin hummed, thoughtful. “Perhaps that’s because melee weapons have fallen out of favor among most mages.”

“Perhaps.” Cassandra nodded, looking at the Herald curiously as she strapped the scabbard back onto herself. “Your clan- From what you’ve told me, it doesn’t abide by the laws of the Chantry or any government. Would this perhaps be one of those laws?”

Eolin only replied with a smile, eyes sharpening. “Would the Chantry throw me back into the dungeons if I told you?”

“You’re the Herald. Even if the Chantry insists upon it, they would have to face the Inquisition.”

“Maybe you’ll learn another time. Perhaps we’ll spar after we return from Val Royeaux.” With that, Eolin began to retreat from the training field. Cassandra could only stare at his retreating form in surprise before following in his steps to their mission.

\--

If there was only one word Eolin could use to describe Val Royeaux, it was an utter mess.

Aside from the glaring fact that the templars had abandoned the city earlier that day and the Chantry still continued in its pursuit of slandering his name as a heretic- Eolin was seriously beginning to wonder if he made the right choice to stay with the Inquisition- the corruption and the vigilante group called the Friends of Red Jenny baffled Eolin as to how Val Royeaux could function successfully like this.

Now he was battling a horde of guards who had their breeches stolen. He supposed the elvhen archer had a rather interesting sense of humor though he still much preferred to keep his eyes above the guards’ waistlines in the lieu of battle.

Still, _breeches_ though? She couldn’t have stolen their weapons?

Eolin swung his metal stave and nailed one of the guards’ heads with a heavy thwack, sending the man sprawling unconscious onto the cobbled ground, while Solas froze another guard that came at Eolin. Eolin nodded to the elder elf in thanks before blasting another attacker back with magic. Just as he did so, a guard came with his side with sword aswinging. Eolin narrowly dodged the blade with a duck and, thinking fast since his magic needed a cooldown from his last spell, yanked an arrow from the chest of a fallen guard beside him and jabbed the sharp end between the attacker’s helmet and chest armor, feeling it sink into the guard’s neck with a sickening crunch. Eolin could only grimace as he let the guard fall to the ground.

He didn’t particularly like getting this up close and personal in battle.

As the last of the guards had fallen, Eolin turned to face the archer with an expression of slight exasperation. “You seem to make a lot of enemies around here.”

“Hey, I’m not the one going around making enemies. It’s these guys that are making enemies and I just take care of them.” She crinkled her nose at Eolin. “And you should speak for yourself; you don’t seem to have too many friends either.”

“...” Eolin supposed he couldn’t argue with that.

“So, you’re the Herald of Andraste, huh? You might be glowy and all that, but you don’t seem too magicky.” The archer waved her fingers as though to mimic magic.

What in Maker’s breath did not _too magicky_ mean?

“So, I’d like to join your band of thingies!”

Eolin, by this time, could already tell that Varric, Solas, and most of all Cassandra were none-too-pleased by the archer’s nonchalant and disrespectful attitude. However, the mage remained intrigued by her. “The Inquisition, you mean.”

“Yeah, yeah, the Inquisiwhatsit.” The archer blew a raspberry while rolling her eyes.

“Just who exactly are you again?”

“I told you, it’s Sera.”

“Right, Sera.” Eolin sighed. He elaborated, “What I want to know is who exactly the Friends of Red Jenny are, your role in all of this, and why you’re interested in joining us.”

“Augh, you sound like like a poshy interviewer.” Sera grumbled. “It goes like this, you see. High ranking pissbags do some stupid shite and piss off other high ranking guys that happen to know us. They tip us some names and we take care of them, they disappear, and everyone’s back to living peaceful lives until the next guy comes around raising hell without knowing their place.”

“Like assassins then?”

“We’re not that fancy. Don’t call us that.” Sera cringed at Eolin’s question.

“Right, sorry.” Eolin corrected himself. “So, you and your Friends, if I’m getting this right, is basically a spy network?”

“I guess, yeah a bit.”

“The Inquisition already has a spy network.” Cassandra interjected with a frown, looking to Eolin as he seemed to be seriously considering Sera’s offer of alliance. “Surely we don’t require more spies…”

“You’re in.” Eolin ignored Cassandra in favor of Sera. The Seeker held her tongue, though if her expression was anything to tell, she disapproved of Eolin’s decision.

Sera grinned at Eolin, “Glad that you didn’t turn out pishy poshy like I hoped. So, to Haven, or whatever, yeah?”

“To Haven, yes.” Eolin made sure to wipe his hand clean of blood on his trousers and offered his hand to Sera. With a firm shake, the deal was sealed.

\--

Eolin cautiously sniffed at himself when no one was looking as he was led into the mansion. He didn’t think he smelled too bad after the little scuffle earlier; he did think to wash up before he was to meet this mysterious Vivienne.

Much to Cassandra’s disapproval and Solas’s concerns, Eolin insisted on going alone to attend this salon. Also against the suggestions of Cassandra, Eolin went in minimal armor; he might have agreed with her in different circumstances, but this Vivienne was also the First Enchanter. He figured he ought to make a good impression on her.

The butler took his cloak with a bow and two of the hosts approached Eolin with polite smiles.

“Good evening monsieur, we’re pleased to have you. Are you here for Madam de Fer or Duke Bastien de Ghislain?”

“I was invited by Madame de Fer, mademoiselle.” Eolin nodded with a smile.

“She may be a little busy at the moment, but I can lead you to her.” The hostess replied.

“Thank you.”

“If you don’t mind, monsieur, I was wondering- Are you the Herald of Andraste?”

Eolin smiled sheepishly at her, “Am I that recognizable?”

“Of course! Almost no one missed out on seeing the Herald himself come to Val Royeaux. We’ve heard that you were an elf too, so that may have intensified our excitement.” The hostess simpered from behind her mask. Eolin had a hard time believing her, remembering the horrified reaction from the first citizen he came across, but he maintained his pleasant expression. “It is quite a pleasant surprise to see that you are not only confident, but handsome as well.”

 _Too complimentary, my ass._ Eolin thought as he recalled Josephine’s earlier advice. “You surely flatter me, mademoiselle.”

“Flattery has its roots in truth.” She countered. She questioned, “But tell me, are those tales true? About how Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade?”

Ah, the question. Eolin replied honestly, “Those storytellers may have gotten a little carried away.”

“But only for the best effect! The Inquisition must have ripe material for wild tales.”

Before Eolin could respond, their conversation was rudely interrupted as another masked man sashayed down the grand staircase in a manner awfully reminiscent of a bristling peacock. “Hah! The Inquisition! What a load of pigshit. Washed up sisters and crazed seekers—no one can take them seriously.”

Well, he supposed not every Orlesian was so eloquent in their speech.

The hostess curtsied to the nobleman, murmuring to Eolin that this man was a marquis. Eolin held his tongue so that he wouldn’t exacerbate the man’s anger by letting an insult slip out.

“Everyone know that the Inquisition is just an excuse for political outcasts to clamor for power.” The marquis added snidely. He looked upon Eolin in disdain, “For its figurehead to be a savage knife-ear.”

Eolin crossed his arms, eyes icing over as rage bubbled in his chest. Before he could lash out and say something stupid, Eolin forced the anger back down and settled to respond coyly, “For being a knife-ear, I’d say I’m doing quite well in pursuing something advantageous for all of Thedas, such as restoring peace and order. As a marquis with magnificent resources, what have you been doing under the kind glow of the hole in the sky?”

The marquis wasn’t quite a dunce as Eolin hoped and only appeared even more infuriated by the thinly veiled insult. “You low life, how dare you! You hide behind your words and your Inquisition. If you were a man of honor, you would stand and answer to your charges—”

“I thought that in even Orlesian law that you have to take charges to the authorities first, noble or not.” Eolin retorted, hiding cruel amusement at the marquis’s increasing anger. He hasn’t done this in awhile.

Unexpectedly, a sheet of ice coated the marquis and he was frozen in place. A voice drew everyone’s attention to the curvacious woman, exuding a powerful presence with her stature alone, descending the staircase gracefully, “Oh, my dear marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house to greet my guest.”

Immediately, Eolin knew that she must be First Enchanter Vivienne. He could see cold sweat break out at the marquis’s temple and he almost felt sorry for the man. Madame de Fer was fearsome without trying, it seemed.

The marquis began to plead, “Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon!”

“You should. Whatever am I going to do with you?” Vivienne hummed. She looked to Eolin in question, “My lord, you were the wounded party in this unfortunate matter. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Eolin replied, “This conflict was only just a short exchange of words; I have suffered no more than he has. Let him go.”

Vivienne only looked at him curiously, surprised by the display of humility, before letting the ice sheet chaining the marquis in place sublimate back into the air. “Hm, by the grace of Andraste herself, you have your life, my dear. Do be more careful with it. Now, run along.”

The marquis only bowed before scurrying away quickly, lest he angered Vivienne again. The First Enchanter turned back to Eolin, apologetic. “I apologize that our first introduction was soured by the marquis. As you likely already know, I am Vivienne.”

“It is still a pleasure to be in your acquaintance, First Enchanter. I am Eolin of Clan Lavellan, or as some have taken to calling me, the Herald of Andraste.” Eolin bowed to Vivienne, taking her extended hand and placing a courteous kiss upon it.

“You seem well-versed in our etiquette, my dear.” Vivienne raised an eyebrow at the display.

“Ah, I am still learning.” Eolin smiled, straightening. “I have an experienced teacher.”

“So I’ve heard.” Vivienne seemed amused at Eolin’s careful words. “Let us go somewhere quieter, shall we? We have much to discuss.”

\--

When Eolin met with his advisors again, he carefully omitted some parts of his meeting with Vivienne—they did not need to hear about how the night devolved into drunken flirting from some of the other guests and how he carelessly antagonized a marquis—and only discussed what Vivienne could offer the Inquisition. The advisors were thankfully more agreeable to his decision to recruit the First Enchanter than Sera.

Eolin once again thanked his intuition to not accept any alcohol that night; things would have turned out much worse and he would’ve had to answer to his advisors if he did.

Later that day, Eolin admitted his behavior to Solas and the elder mage exasperatedly chastised him for his carelessness.

“What? You envy my youth and exuberance?” Eolin teased.

“While your youth and exuberance are attractive features, they can be toxic in excess.” Solas sighed.

“Hm.” Eolin disguised his slightly flushed cheeks by becoming suddenly thirsty and taking a sip from his water jug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eolin Lavellan? @ fellow personality psychology cultists, probably INTJ 7w8 sx/so.


	5. Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eolin faces some past demons.

Demons really were something, it seemed. Especially this one Envy demon.

Eolin dropped to the ground when a giant blade swung down upon him from the smoky ceiling, its sharp edged missing him by inches. Before it could swing back in its pendulum motion, Eolin pushed himself back up and ran across the room to a door, which he pushed open. The next room he found himself in, there were stone fountains raining fire upon the ground.

To his left, Cassandra’s voice accused him of being the one behind the Breach, echoing unnaturally in his ear. When he looked to his left, the scene of his capture replayed with wispy forms mimicking the visages of Cassandra and himself. He simply rolled his eyes, muttering irritably to himself as he walked past the scene.

What kind of demon was this? If it honestly was trying to trap himself in his own mind, it was failing immensely. Eolin mused to himself that if he was a demon, he’d be tempting his enemy to stay trapped by using happy enemies. Were demons that obsessed with being comically evil and dark?

Eolin carefully navigated through the narrow corridors between the blue flames, ignoring the immense heat in favor of imagining the cold air and snowy breeze of Haven. Somehow, it worked and the heat instead felt cold to his skin. Raising a curious eyebrow, he wondered at what else he could control. He closed his eyes, letting images of icy rain and thoughts of feeling the rain on his face flow to the forefront of his mind, and reached a hand into the falling fire.

It felt simply felt like rain.

A smirk grew on his face as realization dawned upon him that it was his mind, and the demon was simply a guest. Eolin focused on his surroundings, intent to change it, and the smoky area disappeared into black wisps that faded away, revealing a familiar forested area that he had spent most of his childhood in. It was still a bit gloomy, but still an improvement from the prison the demon tried to enclose him in.

“ _You insolent mortal!_ ” The demon’s voice bellowed, angered.

“Insolent, maybe.” Eolin hummed in nonchalance, beginning to make his way through the trees. He added, unable to help himself, “But clearly sharper than a certain someone.”

“ _You are more foolish than the mask you wear._ ”

Eolin ignored the comment and focused on navigating through the old trees. He wondered to himself, How does one exactly go about escaping their mind?

A twig snapped behind him and he spun around, preparing to defend himself. Instead of facing the trees that he had just passed, suddenly surrounding him was the very camp he grew up in. Camp Lavellan.

Eyes widening in shock, Eolin stepped back just as several short black wisps mimicking children ran past him with squealing laughter. He shook his head and stepped forward, only for his surroundings to suddenly change again. The image once again faded into black wisps, revealing the inside of a tent.

A cold hand reached out and wrapped spindly fingers around his forearm. With a sharp gasp, Eolin yanked his arm away and stepped back, eyes panicked.

Sad green eyes gazed up at him from the emaciated woman laying on the bed, once flaming red curls that flounced splayed on the pillow and dim from grease and illness. Pale lips moved slightly, forming his name in silence.

Eolin let out a shaky breath, his heart sinking. He breathed, “Mamae…”

Before he could move to kneel beside her and take her hand into his own, someone pushed passed him to hurriedly kneel at her side, black curls that mirrored his own shifting from the quick movement.

A voice that sounded like his but not from his own throat spoke worriedly, “Mamae! Mamae, the scouts have returned with the herbs and I brewed the tea. Please, drink it and you’ll get better.”

The woman shook her head weakly and whispered hoarsely, “No… Too late.”

“Mamae, it’s not too late!”

She took his mirror’s hand, running cold fingers over his palm. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Eolin… I’m dying. This is… My last hour. Please.”

His mirror let out a shaky breath, grasping her hand firmly. “Mamae…”

“Eolin.” The woman pulled her hand from his grasp to cup his cheek, smiling affectionately. “You… Have grown into a fine man. I… Am proud of you.”

His mirror nodded, eyes growing wet. Her eyes began to dim and she let her eyes slide shut for one last time, her hand falling limp. His mirror choked back a sob, grasping her hand tightly. “Mamae… I’m sorry…”

Eolin stared at the scene with a hitch in his breath, blinking rapidly so his tears wouldn’t fall. He squeezed his eyes shut, controlling his breathing as he turned and fled from the tent, pushing the tent flaps roughly aside. When fresh air hit his face, he was met with a delicate hand slapping his face. Eolin’s eyes flew open in shock and he reached up to cup his stinging cheek.

“Ma ane len’alas!”

Eolin’s lips fell open in shock as he met burning blue eyes glaring up at him with confused monochrome eyes. He let out a shaky breath. It was Ellana, or some mimicry of her twenty year old self that he has not seen in almost a decade. He spoke, voice low, “Ellana–”

“Is that why you threw me aside?” Ellana snapped. “I was just some front for you to use to cover up your–your interest in men? You know I don’t have anything against that!”

His mirror’s voice replied, “Ellana! That wasn’t it. I was truly interested in you, but it was just better for us to be friends-”

Eolin looked around the area, searching for his mirror. Was this the game the demon was playing now? Throwing him into his own memory lane?

Ellana interrupted with a scowl, “Or was it because you and Arunam have been fucking behind my back? Banal’ras ma enfenim.”

Eolin bristled at the idea alongside his mirror, agitated that Ellana once thought him such a low life when Arunam wove his way into his personal life only after he had broken it off with Ellana. He remembered that Ellana did apologize to him for the accusations a year later, but the memory still stung.

Ellana’s enraged form scattered into dark smoky wisps, and his surroundings changed yet again, shifting to an area behind an empty tent.

“Eolin.” A seductive voice hummed beside his air. Eolin flinched, scowling as he turned around and made sure to put some distance between him and this new mimicry. _Fenedhis,_ not this.

Arunam, younger than Eolin last saw him, smirked at Eolin. Eolin remembered this. It was the day that he finally snapped at Arunam when he couldn’t deal with hiding their relationship in the shadows as if it was something shameful. Eolin continued backing away and Arunam continued closing the distance, blue eyes almost predatory in the gloomy light.

“What do you want, Arunam?” His mirror’s voice spoke, once again nowhere to be seen.

Arunam appeared confused at the mirror’s words. “What? Is something wrong, Eolin?”

Eolin could only watch the exchange nervously, finding himself backed against a tree. He prepared to listen to another angry exchange, forcing his expression into one of impassivity when Arunam leaned a well-muscled arm against the tree behind him and tilted his head to look down at the shorter elf, a lock of long, straight blonde hair falling over his shoulder and hang beside his face.

“I can’t do this. Not anymore.” His mirror replied, voice harsh. “I’m not just someone to be at your beck and call like a whore just because you feel like it. Clearly, you don’t want a relationship.”

Arunam’s eyes narrowed. He scoffed, “Is this about your whole idea of honor?”

“It’s not just some idea, you arse–” Instead of leaning away and responding with a snide remark Eolin’s pride or lack thereof like he remembered, Arunam suddenly closed the distance and covered Eolin’s lips with his own, hands grasping Eolin’s shoulders. Panic seized Eolin’s muscles and he began to struggle under the mimicry’s iron grip. A hot tongue invaded his mouth, stroking against Eolin’s own.

This was _not_ how it was supposed to go.

Just as Arunam harshly nipped at Eolin’s bottom lip, breaking skin and drawing blood, Eolin shoved the taller elf away in anger. Eolin, shakened from the encounter and limbs weak, slid down the tree until he was seated, glaring wearily at the mimicry as he wiped as his lips with the back of his hand, smearing the blood.

Arunam smirked mockingly at Eolin, licking the blood from his lips in pleasure. His blue eyes flashed white.

“You.” Eolin hissed. “You fucking _disgusting_ piece of shit.”

Arunam’s voice took on a sinister, demonic quality as he replied, “You truly overestimate yourself, _Herald._ ”

“Fen’harel sul’ema din na.”

“Oh, feisty.” The demon drawled, expression bored. “But, I’ve already won.”

With that foreboding phrase, the demon faded away, turning into wisps of smoke carried away by the wind. Eolin let his face fall into his hands, face fixed in a permanent scowl as he felt angry and ashamed at himself for being powerless against this demon and infuriated at the demon for delving this deep into his past.

An unfamiliar voice spoke from above Eolin, “You’re hurting.”

Eolin looked up to see a strange-looking youth staring at him with concerned eyes from beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Weary, he asked, “Who are you? I don’t recognize you.”

“I am just someone trying to help. My name is Cole.” The youth extended his hand for Eolin to help him up.

Eolin stared at the hand, considering, before he took it and regained his footing. “Say, Cole, would you happen to know the way out of this maze?”

Later, when Eolin regained control of his mind again and met the demon again, he took great, sadistic pleasure in running it through with a sword, and again, when he set its ugly face on fire after he and his party rescued the surviving templars.

\--

After he secured an alliance with the templars, there was a small celebration of drinks around the fire that night between templars and the small group of Inquisition soldiers alike. Eolin laughed with his new acquaintances as they shared jokes and tales, but the joy never quite reached his eyes as he continued to contemplate the events earlier that day.

After making rounds of conversation and drinking and soldiers began to shuffle into shared tents to rest before the early morning and their travel back to Haven, Eolin silently sat on the log beside Solas, strangely silent.

“Yet another secured victory for the Inquisition, lethallin. You’re already progressing rather well for a hero.” Solas praised the younger elf.

“Hngh.” Eolin looked down at his near empty flask, distracted. Solas frowned slightly as he observed Eolin’s disturbed expression.

“Is something wrong, lethallin?”

Eolin sighed. “Nothing. Not really, I mean.” He looked at Solas, eyes conflicted. “Are there many demons who like to mess with your head?”

“Not all demons, but yes.” Solas nodded, expression serious. “You’re still thinking about what you saw.”

It was not a question. Eolin nodded silently, lips pursed. He broke their eye contact, staring into the dying fire.

“Do you wish to discuss what you saw?” Solas asked, offering to listen. Eolin did not speak for a moment. At Eolin’s silence, he added and looked away, “I apologize. It must be very personal.”

Eolin glanced at Solas for a moment, still silent. He looked back into the orange flames, letting the silence drag out for several moments before he finally murmured, “I saw my mother.”

Solas shifted to look at Eolin again, silent but listening. Eolin continued, “She died when I was twenty-three. Five years ago. She got sick after we ventured from camp to meet with traders, but one of the humans we came across was gravely ill. We couldn’t save her in time. _I_ couldn’t save her in time.”

Solas spoke, voice quiet, “Ir abelas, lethallin.”

Eolin sighed, shaking his head. He hung his head slightly. “The past is the past, hahren. The demon just sort of caught me unawares, that’s all.”

“If you like, I could teach you a strategy to avoid future incidents like this.”

Eolin’s head shot up to stare in surprise at Solas. “Really? How well does it work?”

“Most demons wouldn’t be able to access the deep recesses of your mind.”

“Fade magic, I take it?”

Solas shook his head. “Not quite. It’s meditation and mental organization.”

“Interesting.” Eolin slowly nodded, contemplative. He smiled, for once content that night, “It’s not something I’m used to, but I am willing to learn.”

Solas smiled back. “I’m sure you’ll be a quick study.”

“Perhaps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and bookmarks! I'm glad to see that some of you enjoy my writing.
> 
> Translations:
> 
>  _Ma ane len’alas_ \- You are a dirty child (I swear this is more insulting than in English)
> 
>  _Banal’ras ma enfenim_ \- You are afraid of shadows, i.e coward
> 
>  _Fen’harel sul’ema din na_ \- a variant form of "Dread Wolf take you" except Eolin's a little less poetic here. I'm not sure if I translated this right; if you know a better translation, please comment or PM me.


	6. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven is under attack by the Venatori.

It was the first day of winter, yet the first snow had yet to fall. It was too warm for anyone’s liking in clan Lavellan, but everyone made do and left the winter cloaks in the closet for awhile longer.

The evening was quiet, except for some children still wandering about and playing Halla and the Wolf, squealing voices heard through the air. Teenagers had already formed groups to just talk about their day and the latest news and rumors, as the hunters had already returned with the catch of the evening. The smell of cooking stew wafted throughout the camp from the multiple small bonfires.

A single fifteen year old elf sat alone in the Keeper’s tent, studying the runes drawn on the yellowed pages of a heavy tome with a silent intensity. Eolin had long since given up on his social life despite the Keeper’s occasional urging of him to take a break and spend some time with his friends. The teenager liked to think he could make do without friends, considering he much preferred to practice to become the best mage he could be.

The flap of the tent was pushed aside, letting cold air flow into the tent. Eolin immediately shivered in his thin clothes. He looked up from the tome and immediately greeted, “Keeper Deshanna.”

“Eolin. Put on a cloak. I have a lesson for you.” Deshanna said, her wizened face serious. Eolin blinked in surprise, for he hadn’t had an official lesson with the Keeper in over a year now that all he needed was to practice and read.

“Yes, Keeper.” Eolin stood and slipped on his cloak. “What will I be learning today?”

Deshanna’s lips twitched into a small smile before disappearing. “You shall see.” She took a large fabric bag that stored two objects that Eolin suspected were staves, yet were too short to be normal staves. He followed her out of the tent.

The sounds of the camp faded away into the distance and soon it was only the sound of dead leaves crackling beneath their feet to occupy the silence. The sun was setting in the horizon, casting its orange dying rays through the barren trees of the woodland that surrounded their camp.

Deshanna stopped once they had reached a clearing and reached a gloved hand into the fabric bag. In her hand, she pulled out a sheathed sword simplistic in its design. With both hands, she gave the sword to Eolin, who stared in puzzlement at the heavy object as he accepted it.

“Keeper?”

“Clan Lavellan is one of the few clans that remember our deepest roots in Elvhenan.” Deshanna began, taking out another sword and attaching it to her hip. “This is a practice that the past Keeper passed on to me thirty years ago and that I will pass on to you now.”

“What practice exactly is this?”

Deshanna only looked on in amusement at Eolin. “What, you thought that mages could only use their hands and a stave?”

Eolin’s eyes widened. “You’re going to teach me the way of the sword?”

“Not just that.” The Keeper shook her head. “I will be teaching you how to use a range of weapons to the best of my ability, considering I am a better swordswoman than I am an archer. You will learn to sharpen your focus even further by dividing it equally but using it simultaneously between the magic of your mind and the hand that controls the physical.”

“Like the priests and priestesses at the Temple of Mythal?” Eolin almost grinned in excitement.

“Yes, for they were masters of magic as well as the arrow.” Deshanna nodded. “For now, I will be teaching you the correct posturing before we move on to duelling in our next lesson. Why don’t you test the weight of your sword first?”

Eolin took the hilt in his hand and slid the sword slowly out of its wooden scabbard, fascinating with the sound of the metal lightly scraping the wood. He raised it, noting that while it was fairly heavy, it was light enough to hold with one hand.

The sunlight glimmered off the steel, scattering orange light through the air in the last moments of the sunset before it faded away.

\--

Eolin was more than thankful to the templars for aiding their defense against the Venatori, and he almost considered converting religions—yet once again he silently laughed at the thought and pushed it aside—but it was beginning to look like the Venatori forces were overwhelming Haven. The outlook was not good for Eolin’s party as Cassandra was already down with a gash running up her side. Solas was doing his best manipulating the Fade to slow the bleeding, but the Seeker still was in no condition to fight.

Eolin and Solas were both helping Cassandra back toward the Chantry, struggling under the combined weight of her armor and her weak form, while Varric trailed behind them to fire at any Venatori before they could come any closer. Much to their luck, Cullen saw them in the distance and hurried over.

“Are you alright?” Cullen questioned, concerned.

“Cassandra—she needs help.” Solas said.

“Here,” Cullen pulled out a potion and handed it to Cassandra. The Seeker readily gulped it down with a grimace at the taste. “It’ll take some time for it to work, so you and I should switch positions for now.”

“Are you certain, Cullen?” Cassandra frowned.

“Yes. You’re perfectly capable to lead in my stead.” Cullen assured the Seeker, his voice firm. “You need to heal, Cassandra.”

Cassandra sighed, displeased. “Fine, as you insist.”

Eolin looked to Solas, “Help her into the Chantry and stay posted there.”

“Are you certain, Eolin?” The elder mage stared at Eolin in surprise. He was reluctant. “You may need my assistance.”

“Hey, we can do with one mage for now. Right now, there are injured who need your help; I’m nowhere near as good at healing magic as you are.”

Solas finally nodded in agreement and took his leave, helping Cassandra limp back to the stone building.

“So, just the three of us now, then?” Varric spoke, visibly concerned as he remained on guard for more Venatori.

Eolin began to wonder if sending Solas away was such a good idea, but his worry was quickly waved away when Cole appeared beside them- Though his ability to just poof into existence still startled even Eolin.

“Not just three.” Cole replied.

“So, we’ll be fine.” Eolin let out a breath, giving a weak smile.

Cullen pointed out, “There are still survivors that haven’t made it to the Chantry. We need to save them.”

“Right.” Eolin agreed. “Let’s get on it, then.”

With that, they hurried into the flaming village with weapons drawn.

\--

It was a trap.

Going into the flaming village to evacuate as many of the survivors as possible, while not something Eolin regretted, only proved their efforts futile when most of the villagers were dead and they could only save five. The very least the Venatori could have done was let him save Flissa before they ambushed him and his makeshift party, but clearly even they lacked the respect for innocent life as one of them came up to Flissa and slit her throat himself.

The sight of the light fading from her eyes flashed behind his eyes as Eolin was shoved through the snow, stave gone and surrounded by corrupted mages, as angry tears froze on his cheeks. With a final push as they entered a clearing outside Haven, Eolin fell onto his knees and hands with a harsh gasp. After a moment, he straightened to glare at one of the mages, who sneered at him as a blade of pure light formed in her hands—no doubt to end Eolin right there. Eolin grimaced in pain as one of the Ventori behind him grasped his shoulders too tightly, keeping him down.

“Any last words, Herald?”

Eolin met her gaze evenly with hatred and he hissed, “ _Fuck you._ ”

Before she could act, Eolin deftly elbowed the Venatori behind him in the groin with great force, rules of battle be damned, and as the man howled in pain, he grasped the hilt of the man’s sword and unsheathed it from his scabbard. It was rather heavy and long compared to what Eolin was used to, but he quickly adapted and ran the mage through with the blade.

It was then that the other Venatori panicked, and Eolin’s party used the distraction to free themselves and attack their enemies.

Eolin threw himself into the throes of battle and sliced through the enemies with practiced ease, feeling almost gleeful at the weight of a sword in his hands once again. He felt no mercy as blood soaked the steel blade and cries of fallen Venatori filled the air.

With their combined efforts, the rest of the Venatori party was soon to fall. Silence filled the air as one soldier remained.

Blood dripped along the length of the sword to the sharp tip, falling upon the white snow and staining it with a red trail as Eolin, steel grey eyes deadly with rage, slowly strode to the last of the weakened Venatori, who straightened as though to defend himself in spite of his wounds. Frost had begun to form where his gloved hand grasped the hilt tightly.

The elf scowled as he closed the distance. The masked man swung his sword at Eolin with the bellow, and the elf simply deflected it with his blade, the iced-over blood flaking off from the impact. Eolin immediately slammed the hilt of his blade harshly on the man’s hand, and the man reflexively let his sword land in the snow with a cry of pain. The man, in panic, quickly backed away but slipped, landing harshly on his backside.

The elf narrowed his eyes at the man. Letting himself go, Eolin subtly twisted the magic around him to be dark and menacing, inducing terror in the man as he stepped closer to the man.

“Wait, please! Mercy!”

“Mercy?” Eolin chuckled darkly. “That was the very thing those innocent people begged for when you slaughtered them.”

“I-I have a family-”

Eolin sneered, “You should have thought of that before you became an executioner for hire.”

“Herald!” Eolin dully recognized Cullen’s voice, but ignored it. With a clean blow, there was a thud and blood scattered the snow. Blood pooled where the dead man lay.

“That was a bit much, wasn’t it?” Varric coughed from behind him. Eolin sighed, and turned to his party members. The dwarf added, “Of course, I can’t blame you since they almost killed us all back there.”

“Cold rage, tired and resigned- Vengeance tears upon his heart yet it is a necessary evil…” The blond spirit murmured.

“Let’s launch the last trebuchet.” Eolin ordered in a quiet voice that was piercing in the clearing full of corpses. He began to leave.

Cullen temporarily stopped Eolin in his step and handed the mage his fallen, bloodied stave. “Eolin, I recovered your stave.”

Eolin’s muscles relaxed slightly in relief. “Thank you, Cullen.”

As they left the clearing, Eolin unceremoniously dropped his sword beside the body of the Venatori he borrowed it from.

\--

Bright stars prickled his vision when the back of his head hit the trebuchet with a hard crack. Eolin groaned from his prone position, half-heartedly wishing that the blow killed him then and there. The mage slowly stood, using the trebuchet to balance himself against. He blinked, grimacing when fresh blood dripped from his temple into his eye. He hastily wiped the trail of blood away from his face and glowered at the so-called Elder One.

“You worthless mortal, I should just kill you right now-”

Eolin raised his hand to rudely stop the darkspawn in midsentence, rolling his eyes. “Please, can you save the speech for after I’m dead? I’m having a killer migraine right now and your voice is entirely grating.”

Corypheus, entirely appalled at Eolin, sneered at him. “Y-”

“Oh wait! That just reminded me-” Eolin’s lips curled in a vicious grin. “-You don’t really have the time for a speech do you? Well, better make it fast, Cory- Can I call you that?- Because it’s gonna be a little too loud for me to hear you in a few moments.”

“What?”

Eolin kicked the lever and a boulder hurled through the air straight into the mountain behind them. A low rumble started, and it grew increasingly louder with the passing second. The ground began to rattle.

“I rather hope you’ve had a nice day, Cory.” Eolin said nonchalantly, smile grim and eyes hard. He saluted mockingly to the darkspawn before jumping off the trebuchet onto the snowy slope leading down further into the valley, where he slid likely to his death.

Well, freezing to death or suffocation in an avalanche still sounded better than becoming dragon kindling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really understand how other (better) authors write long chapters. I can only write really long ones for serious AUs. Is it blood magic?
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I've had this one written for awhile.


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